Many people sit down to talk about their hobbies or interests. The only things occupying my mind are memories. Most of them aren't even pleasant. Here are the ones that haven't been entirely forgotten. Some are more vivid than others.
...
I will be...
There's not much that I remember about my childhood. I know most events secondhand, from my parents or other family. Some are just common sense. Others come to me fleetingly, and I never remember to make a note of them somewhere before I forget again.
My brother was born in 2004, the year after I was. That might've been one of the more catastrophic happenings in my life, at least at the time. I know, because of Mom, that he and I did not get along back then. She blames me for our disagreements, saying that I "made him mean" and "tormented" him when he was a toddler.
For example, when I covered my infant brother in baby powder and tried to hide him under the changing table. In their defense, it does seem like attempted murder.
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Pretty sure he just had youngest child syndrome. He was the baby, the perfect child, the "do no wrong" kid. And in turn, I became the scapegoat. The liar, the bully, the child they could not trust. Every word out of my mouth, an unabashed lie. Countless times, he would hit me or punch me or push me and then he would cry and, before I could even react, the parents would barrel into the room with fingers pointed at me.
It felt as if I was the only one who could see the truth. He had major anger issues, or some sort of resentment maybe. He had poor emotional control and was used to getting his way. Early on, he figured that the parents would believe him over me. And he used it to his advantage.
So, I became bitter. And I leaned into the title they gave me. Because why be anything else?
My family always talks about little girl me. Small me, with my nature-themed bedroom and my endless verbal barrage of animal facts. The me who refused to wear shoes and real clothes, opting for bare feet and swimsuits to give as much of my body to the Earth as I could. The me who would roller-skate through the neighborhood and knock on anyone's door. But I only remember being grounded every other week, being pulled out of class because I was too blunt, and being ridiculed by friends and family alike.
Before I enrolled in elementary school, we moved from Missouri to Arkansas. For my dad's job probably; it was always his job.
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Arkansas was different, it was new, it was colorful. It was also humid and mosquito infested (my legs were never free of bites) because of the large lake we lived near. The town was more run down than in Missouri and there were a lot more trees around. Five year old kids don't care about those things, though.
